Armor’s off. Helmet stays. The cats insisted. They’d been stood down for a week and were climbing the walls. I let them run until curfew. Getting them back to barracks was the hard part.
My cat supervises rifle maintenance. Every so often she growls at me like she’s saying, ‘You missed a spot.’
Quiet on the way home. One me. One furry. One steel. Same trio as always. Same trio that went out to get the job done. Same trio coming back. That’s enough.
I probably shouldn’t use the term, considering the circumstances… but my cat likes photobombing.
Got them both home. Or maybe they got me home.
I told her not to get her paws on the iron—I just cleaned it. She never listens. Now she’s got the nerve to pout at me. Cats…